The Law
by sherlockianmuser
Summary: When different members of the justice system are kidnapped mysteriously, the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI are called in to help investigate. The town hopes the team can profile the kidnapper before more are taken, but when one of the missing persons are found dead and a member of the team is taken, it becames a race the BAU are more than determined to win. No slash.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

The hiding place was perfect. Rough, jagged criss-crosses of metal wires obscured his bodyline perfectly, while keeping his line of vision straight ahead of him. The lights above him reflected away from the crevice he was squatted in, shadowing his every move, whilst making the room around him glow with a dead shine as the objects sat still, unmoving and unobserved. The soft shine of the brush strokes in the paintings on the smudged cream walls obstructed his view from whatever scene was displayed upon the wall. He knew what was in the painting though; it was the one thing in the room he felt deserved to be on show in the small, derelict museum, the only thing worth paying a few dollars to come see, observe and protect.

Then, his prey sauntered into the room. The prey was cocky even in his work, and he had to hold bad a snarl in order to keep hidden. His time would come.

His prey was busy whistling a lullaby that he recognised, and was throwing his torch around constantly. Once, he missed judged his throw, and the torch crashed upon the cold, dusty floor beneath his feet. He bent down, revealing a security-radio on the back of his belt, along with a tazer. He would have to be careful about this one. His prey picked up the torch, examined its condition, and returned to whistling his tired lullaby.

Watching his prey like this was agonising. What use was there for him? He watched and guarded ancient town relics that only gave the elderly the sense of pride and joy this town once had, but no one ever came to visit. The painting he so admired should have been sold to a bigger museum, to a bigger audience where everyone could see the town's name, but they insisted on keeping it dusty and forgotten. Soon, no buyers would take it. Instead, it would be stolen and sold on black market, or ripped to be used as cocaine rolls. That's how all the other paintings ended up, because _they _couldn't do their job properly. Well, now they would all pay for their laziness.

What was this guard supposed to be doing? Surely if he did his job, he would have found his hunter hiding only a few yards away from him, and he would have dragged him out of the building and to the police station. If he did his job, maybe the other paintings wouldn't have been stolen. Maybe the town would want to come and see the works that held value, because they hadn't been _stolen_.

The hunter sighed as the guard sat down upon a plastic chair reserved for him in the corner of the room, in front of the heavy lighting. _Soon, soon, soon, _the hunter repeated.

The guard kept on whistling; almost sending the hunter into his dreams, but this wasn't the time for dreams. This was time for revenge. They would all pay for turning a blind eye to everyone who broke the law. They wouldn't even be able to ignore him, for what he was about to do. If they cared, maybe he could get caught before anything drastic happened. He highly doubted they would, though. They never did before, why should the future be different?

The whistle faltered, and the hunter's ears pricked up. _Falling asleep, are you?_ He thought snidely. _I thought security guards _never _slept on the job_. His prey's eyelids drooped, and succumbed to his own lullaby. The hunter growled. _This _was why everything of value was taken away from the town and was never recovered.

He straightened his legs, and revealed his frame to the world. The hunter was much taller than his prey, and much thinner. His prey looked overweight compared to the slight build of his hunter, but it put no more odds in his favour as his hunter raised a baton to his head... and smashed down hard.

The hunter gasped. "I-I did it. I actually did it!" He gasped, ruffling his dark hair with his hands. He returned the baton to its holding place inside his thick jacket, and got to work dragging the guard away from the museum, away from the scene, away from detection. If the law cared, maybe they would notice the blood on the floor, how the chair was turned over and how dirt was smeared along the floor. Maybe they'd see the note discarded in the crevice where the hunter had hidden. Yet, deep down in the hunter's heart, he knew they wouldn't. And they didn't.

They didn't notice until the second kidnapping had come to pass


	2. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first attempt at a Criminal Minds FanFiction. I hope do the show some justice, as it is quite hard to write – fast faced, descriptive, intricate plot lines, detailed profiling. It takes some skill to write it well. So, I hope my sadistic nature and writing brings you an enjoyable FanFiction. Also, I'm not American (I'm English) so please excuse me if I get some of the cultural aspects wrong.**

**Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds, storylines or characters apart from the ones I have created myself.**

* * *

SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Emily Prentiss and SSA Doctor Spencer Reid were making the most of their break in the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. Their coffee cups were full, and the pile of case files they had to fill out were mostly done. Well, Reid's were. Morgan and Prentiss hadn't quite made the progress their younger teammate had done during the morning. Already, the younger agent had only one more case file to fill before he could properly relax, with the completed ones filed to the right side of his computer screen. His desk was relatively tidy considering the work load too: most agents created a mass clutter of photographs and witness statements, mixed together with personal items and stationary. Something went missing on someone's desk almost every day if they had to fill cases. That was the state of both Prentiss and Morgan's tables. Reid's was spotless.

"Come on, kid, how do you do it?" Morgan said, leaning back fully into his chair as Reid finished sipping his hot coffee.

"How do I do what?" Reid replied.

Prentiss laughed across the opposite desk. "Don't pretend you don't know what he's talking about, Reid."

Reid lowered his coffee, and chuckled to himself. "I have an eidetic memory; I can read 20,000 words per minute; I have an IQ of 187 and I have been filling out the same style of case files for years now. This means I remember what basis of the report I have to write out, and I can read and remember all of the evidence which takes you three deep looks to at least try to remember-"

"Whoa, whoa, okay! Slow done, I haven't had my morning coffee yet!" Morgan teased, smiling as Reid went back to the last case file of the morning.

"Well, if you think we have it bad, you should see JJ's pile. It _never _gets smaller," Prentiss said, addressing Morgan. Reid turned back towards his last file, and started to flick open the brown cover. With a click of his pen, he continued to write, almost mechanically. Prentiss wished she could keep her desk that tidy and finish so early, but, for her, it was either one or the other; organisation took time in her world. "Does he ever take a break?"

"I think this is one of those days where he's got to finish _every _case before he takes a break," Morgan exasperated as he looked back at the load he still had to write out. "I just wish the cases would go down, you know? Less killings, more innocent people alive, less work for us..." Morgan trailed.

"Yeah, keep dreaming, Derek," Prentiss joked. That was the dream, to be able to know all their work was preventing other killers from becoming who they were because they knew they would get caught, and that more people could live safely, but the world would never be safe. Unsubs just kept on developing and torturing, raping, kidnapping and killing, and they could only catch them after they'd killed.

Morgan and Prentiss admired Reid. He could remember things no one could remember, and knew things people could dream of knowing. He could figure out something from an obscure detail with the knowledge he held, but was tough enough to stomach the work he took on and boy could he complete case work! Morgan and Prentiss would do anything to clear their loads as fast as him.

Then, Jennifer Jureau walked in through the Bureau, a pile of cases tucked underneath her arms.

"Just when you thought it would all be over!" Morgan said.

Jennifer Jureau, or 'JJ', was the teams Communications Liaison. She was the person who chose which cases the team would be called into to help investigate, and which cases should wait. She helped stop the media from covering the wrong information, or even the right information, in case it would affect the case. She set up Press Conferences to help warn the public, and was one of the most vital members of the BAU. Whenever she held a pile of case notes in her arms, the team knew they would be flying off to help the local authorities somewhere in America.

Reid looked up from his half-finished case file, and onto JJ. His deep, chocolate brown eyes observed the files she was carrying into the boardroom, and flicked back to Morgan and Prentiss, who were gathering their things. They had another case, and he knew the drill. Quickly, he flipped shut his file, returned it to 'incomplete' section of his desk, and grabbed his old, brown leather bag with all of his go-to stuff whenever the team got a new case.

The three agents regrouped, and Reid patted Morgan and Prentiss on the back. "Don't worry, you'll clear your case files one day."

* * *

Detective Matthew Howard sat shaking by his desk. His palms were sweating, and he could literally _feel _this town crumbling between his finger tips. Evidence photos were pinned up against the drawing board staring straight at him, and he could only feel the guilt swelling as he examined everything his men had found at the crime scenes. His badge felt heavy in his pocket, like he wasn't worthy of being a 'Detective'. He couldn't even detect this criminals whereabouts, couldn't detect that he was sending his own men into trouble. His hands stopped trembling, and began to stroke his jet black hair up and down, up and down until his long, fluffy hair became a sticky mess that accentuated his small, skinny frame. He wasn't really built to be a Detective or a cop, but his knowledge got him further than most of the stronger men he worked with. He was respected for that. Now how would he be respected in town?

This wasn't supposed to happen; cops were trained to defend themselves against attacks, they didn't split up in dangerous situations and they definitely knew how to use guns. Now, one of his own was gone, taken when his partner was only metres away inside the house they thought held the security guard and the kidnapper. Instead, the kidnapper had him.

The cop's name was Chris Kirk, and he had a family: his wife Kelly and his three children Alfie, Ava and Buster. The Kirk's did not need the strain of possibly losing their husband and father, but Matt didn't have any leads to work with. All he knew was that Chris and his partner, Dominic Bellamy, had been searching an address sent to them by an anonymous source, claiming the person saw the security guard and the kidnapper through the window. Dom had entered the building while Chris searched the front and back yards, and they'd only been separated for a couple of minutes, but that had been enough time for the kidnapper to snatch Chris without making a sound. Dom had cleared the house, only to find blood across the lawn of the back yard, drag marks through the grass, and a note:

_Check the museum._

_You missed the clue that could have saved him._

_This time, I will not tell you who I will take._

They checked the museum, thoroughly this time. The evidence that had been found, noted and recorded had been cleaned away for processing in a lab, but the first note was found this time. An older note left at the first kidnapping:

_He was lazy, that's why no one comes here._

_His laziness ensured all value left this place unwanted._

_I will take a cop next time._

_I'll make an anonymous call._

_It will give you an address._

_If a cop shows up, he'll be taken._

_Be wary._

If only they'd found the note. They would have ignored that anonymous call, and Chris would be here, in the station, trying to figure out who kidnapped the guard. His wife would be safe in the knowledge that Chris was alive and well, unlike the security guards family, who feared for his life. Now, there were two families in town who held the same fear. They would have tracked him down, or maybe the criminal would have let him go if he got the attention from the authorities. The opportunity had presented itself, and it seemed had passed. This case was going to become a lot tougher on everyone.

He did the right thing calling in the BAU: from reading their work, he could see how many serial killers they'd brought to justice, how many possible victims they'd saved, and how many missing people they'd found. They'd dealt with hostage situations, gang incidents, religious extremists and terrorists. This kind of case would be easy to deduce, hopefully, and maybe the guard, who was known to people as Alex Helders, and Chris Kirk would all be returned to their families unharmed and alive.

Yet, Matt could only hope for the best, and expect the worst.

* * *

The boardroom had been cleaned again. All previous case files, evidence photos, victim photos, maps and papers had been cleared and filed away somewhere inside the unit ready to be written up and closed and their last case had only finished yesterday. The once filled round table was now clean and spotless, reflecting the lights circulating above the table. If you looked closely at the mirrored wood, you could see a slight reflection of the plants, window blinds and bookcases which stood in the background of the room. Straight lines from the separated blinds were silhouetted by the harsh light of the 'Bull Pen' below the boardroom, and the different coloured spines of each book stood out from one another on the shelves of the bookcases. One by one, each chair seated at the side of the round table was filled: Morgan, Prentiss, Reid, Garcia, Rossi and Hotchner.

Penelope Garcia was the team's Technical Analyst, and dealt with digging up important legal information about unsubs to determine who the unsub was, and give them enough evidence to hold them in court. As well as legal information, she also found personal information to help with the profiling process, and hacked into the unsub's computers if they needed viable evidence.

SSA David Rossi had joined the BAU team after SSA Gideon had suddenly abandoned the team for personal reasons. He was one of the original profilers who created the BAU to help consult baffled police forces, and his work had been successful. He retired, and toured his many books on profiling serial killers, prompting many youths to become FBI agents or, consequently, become unsubs themselves. Yet, he rejoined the BAU, claiming he had 'unfinished business' to take care of. Now that his business was over, he could concentrate fully on the cases at hand, and his experience had allowed him to be successful on every case so far.

Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner was the leader of the team. He monitored the team, told them which area of the profile they worked on and if they were to be included on cases, interrogations and searches. The team was his responsibility, and his profiling skills were invaluable to the team, even if each member felt like he never really engaged with his emotions enough to at least crack a smile every once in a while, or give the team some slack on their resting days. A drill sergeant, they called him.

Now that all agents were sat by the round table, JJ could give out the cases, slipping brown file after brown file to agent after agent until there were no more files to hand out. She dug inside the pocket of her jacket, and brought out a small remote that controlled the monitor in front of her. She clicked the largest button, turning the screen on to a brilliant blue background, indicating she was ready to present her case.

"Earlier this morning, Detective Matthew Howard from the local force of Killsperg County called the BAU to investigate the kidnapping of local security guard Alex Helders and local policeman Chris Kirk under the same mysterious circumstances." With the click of another button, images of Alex and Chris flashed and filled the blue screen, revealing their smiling faces. Alex had dark brown hair, shagging over his ears, whereas Chris had shorter, blonde hair; they were both aesthetically different, indicating a physical appeal wasn't the factor in this investigation. "Both crime scenes had small amounts of blood on the scene, indicating an attack on both men, with drag marks leaving the scene," she continued. "Notes, were also left at both scenes."

All agents looked up. "Notes?"

JJ nodded. "Yes, notes."

Reid flicked through the case file. "_He was lazy, that's why no one comes here. His laziness ensured all value left this place unwanted. I will take a cop next time. I'll make an anonymous call. It will give you an address. If a cop shows up, he'll be taken. Be wary._"

"That was the first note," JJ explained.

"If that's the case, then did the police receive the anonymous call?" Aaron said, pondering the note.

"Yes, they did. The call gave the address, just as the note said, but the warning didn't arrive until after Chris Kirk had been taken."

Morgan and Prentiss exchanged a confused glance. "Until after? Is this unsub disorganised?"

"No, the second note was found before the first note-"

"_Check the museum. You missed the clue that could have saved him. This time, I will not tell you who I will take_," Reid announced, interrupting JJ's explanation. "So, the police didn't find the first note until they found the second note?"

"Yes, exactly Reid," JJ said.

"We'll analyse the notes when we get on the plane. JJ, tell Detective Matthew Howard we take the case," Hotchner instructed, rising from his chair. "Wheels up in thirty minutes, guys. We're going to Killsperg."

* * *

Chris Kirk began to rouse from his slumber. He felt like his mind had been drowning in darkness ever since he went to look in the backyard of that house. What was he looking for again? Was it a cat? Was it a petty burglar? Those were the circumstances he was usually sent out to search. Argh, his mind just wasn't responding. Every time he searched for a memory, it all went black- no, wait. He remembered: he was with Dom, his partner, and they were looking for that security guard. What was his name, again? Yes, Alex Helders – he'd seen him around town. Decent guy, from what he could remember, never got into trouble. He couldn't quite fathom why Matt had wanted him to arrest him. No, they weren't going to arrest him, they were trying to recover him. Yes! He'd been kidnapped. He'd seen the blood on the floor at the museum, and the drag marks. That poor guy had been attacked.

And so had he.

His head was overwhelmingly painful, flaring like fire at the back of his skull. His muscles felt disconnected and weak, and his arms felt tight and pulled. His neck felt funny, like something was strangling him, but not strangling him, if that made sense. It was himself – his head was rolled forward onto his chest uncomfortably, and his arms were chained or tied to something above him. His feet could touch the floor, but his legs were bent, like he wasn't in contrl of his own body; he was hanging from the wall. _Where the hell am I?_ He thought. _Why the hell am I hanging from a wall?_

Chris turned his head slightly, and opened his eyes. The room was dark, but not like the black hole his mind had been pushed through at that house. A barred window let in three dusty blocks of light that had initially blinded his vision at first, but was dull enough for his eyes to clear. The soft skin of his arms were prominent against his cheeks, but he could see them now. He continued to turn his head to get a better view of the room rather than the dark wall in front of him. That was when he found Alex, hanging next to him with bruises along his cheeks and matted blood on the back of his head. He'd been hit like Chris too.

_I've got to get out of here_, Chris thought. His feet found solid ground, and Chris willed his knees to stand straight. It wasn't hard for him to get the shackles less taught, standing at over six feet tall, but the pain only swelled in his arms. It was instantaneous, though, and followed by a flood of relief that injected a mental painkiller for him. Then, he began to tug. He tugged and tugged and tugged, but it was no use. The shackles were metal, and he barely had enough strength to carry his ten year old son.

_Oh God! _Chris panicked. _My family, are they okay? Do they know about me? Oh shit, my children!_A small sob escaped through his lips. Then another one, partnered with a river of tears. Chris loved his family, but now he couldn't protect them, and he couldn't protect himself. He cried, shifting down towards the ground as his will left him, and gave up on escaping for that one moment. Tears stinging his eyes, he looked to the other side of the wall: about three more pairs of shackles were hanging next to him. _No! He's going to kidnap other people!_

That was when his captor decided to enter his prison cell.

* * *

All the agents began to fill the plane up. A sense of urgency began to seep into their bodies, just like it usually did whenever they were rushed to the jet: Reid was ruffling his hair back and forth whilst going over the case notes for a second time, making sure he knew _all _the details; Morgan scrambled his headphones on, choosing the most relaxing song to play to ease his thoughts before the group constructed the MO and Victimology; JJ got to work setting up a connection with Garcia in the centre of the main desk table; Hotch was constantly analysing the evidence from the scenes, along with Rossi; Prentiss had shut her eyes, and began to think why a person would kidnap a security guard and a policeman. It would help with the Victimology.

The plane began to roll forward, gaining more and more speed as it began to lift off the runway. Reid snuck a glance outside the window and away from the file, watching the city fall below them as they grew higher and higher with careful speed. The delicate water-droplets of clouds then crept into view, until the plane was high enough that the clouds blocked all view of Quantico, leaving them a delicate, fluffy pathway of yellow-stained puff balls to gawk at. In the end, JJ had to snap her fingers to get Reid's attention.

"Okay, so both kidnapped victims were attacked, but not so violent as to leave a pool of blood and compromise their health. They were dragged away from the scene until the drag trail ended and the police lost their location," JJ began. "And they were both members of law enforcement."

"Mmm, that is interesting," Reid inserted. "Maybe the unsub had past experience with the law if he felt the need to kidnap specific members; he could have been fired and sought revenge."

"That would explain why he may have known that the police wouldn't have found the first note, describing the guard as 'lazy' if he felt like he had been the only hard worker," Hotch added.

Prentiss shuffled to face everyone from her seat. "Maybe the unsub was charged for something he didn't commit,"

"Or he's seeking revenge on the law because he was a victim of a crime that didn't go to court, or the criminal who attacked him was found innocent when the unsub knew he was guilty," Rossi said.

"That could be the case, but, most people who exact revenge on the criminal, not the law enforcement," JJ said.

"Maybe he's already attacked the criminal, but he feels the need to get revenge on the law for making him feel the need attack the criminal, like this whole thing wasn't his fault," Morgan concluded. "Like the police were lazy on the job, and he feels the need to clean up their mess and punish them at the same time."

"Can you get Garcia, JJ?" Hotch instructed.

JJ span to the computer. "Of course, Sir." She typed in a short chained code that enabled access to Garcia also immediately.

"Penelope Garcia, the Oh-So Wonderful Goddess of Computers and Snooping at your service," she opened with, a large, purple feather sticking out of her bright blonde hair, faint strips of red and green faint in the dimness of her Analysis room. It was a wonder how she made herself look so bright and colourful in a job with so much hardship and despair. It was a wonder she still _felt _and _acted _bright and colourful in this line of work.

"Garcia, I need you to look into cases where a white male, possibly late 20s to early 30s, was a victim of a crime that was closed as 'innocent' in court," Hotch explained, his tone forceful and calm.

"Could you narrow it down, Sir? There could be thousands of those kind of cases," Garcia said, already beginning to type in her specially created search engine.

"Cross reference it to criminals and victims who have lived or are living in Killsperg Town, or anywhere within a 20-mile radius of the location," he continued.

"Yes Sir, you'll know almost immediately as I do. Garcia out!" She chimed, closing down her web-cam.

The team sat in silence for the next few seconds, thinking in unison. Hopefully Garcia would find a link, but it was highly improbable: Killsperg was only a small town, and they all suspected that there weren't many cases happening in the town, but something could have triggered a stressor. Revenge on the law because of a criminal was released was a good first thought into the stressor of the kidnapper.

It was Prentiss who broke the silence. "Do you think he'll kidnap again?"

"It is possible," Reid started. "Considering both victims were kidnapped within two weeks and if this unsub feels strongly about enacting revenge on the law in the town, I'd say another kidnap could happen within the next few days."

"And he's escalated in his victims: first, a security guard from a museum that looks like no one goes to, and then a policeman who fights local crime. A lawyer or court judge would be at risk of becoming a potential target," Rossi said. "Maybe even Detective Matthew Howard himself could be at risk."

"Well, whatever happens, expect local media attention. It's not every day a kidnap takes place in such a small town," JJ said. "I'll try to fend them off as long as possible."

"Good, we can't have the media influence the unsub in such a dangerous situation without our command," Hotch said, his eyes narrowing. "Reid, I want you and Rossi to go to the first crime scene and build an image on how and what he guarded and what happened that night; JJ and Prentiss, I want you two to set up at the police department and give specific instructions to the local media on the case. Tell them not to release any information they may have. It could provoke the unsub; Morgan, you're with me. We'll investigate the latest crime scene and build an image on what happened there."

Every head bobbed up and down in unison. Hotch returned to his seat, and began to shut his eyes whilst the other members of his team returned to their music or started conversations. But Hotch knew one thing for certain: they were going to catch this unsub and find his kidnappers before it was too late.

* * *

**What do you think? I haven't written in ages, so my writings probably not up to scratch, but I hope that was a good first chapter.**

**Reviews are welcome!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey there! It's been a while, but I've been a bit busy with going to back to school and stuff. Anyway, before I ramble about my GCSE's and college and stuff, I must bring you Chapter 2 of The Law.**

**Enjoy!**

_**!Warning: Torture takes place in this chapter!**_

* * *

Matthew was nervous, now. All day he'd been waiting for the FBI Agents to arrive and, with news that their plane had landed only ten minutes ago, his body had finally begun to betray him: muscles all over his body were beginning to shake and the worries he'd been trying to overcome were hazing his vision. All he could think of was the blood left by his fellow officer – his friend – in the garden of that house. The FBI would help, but he was more anxious than he'd ever been in his entire life.

What if they decided the case wasn't good enough for their expertise? What if the town was too small? There'd been no murders, why would they investigate?

"Snap out of it, Matt!" The detective declared, banging his fist on the table. "Breath... breath..." he sung to himself like a mantra. Then, he sighed. "I'm too young for this." He was: barely even past thirty years old, but it was his skills, his expertise and his profound knowledge that landed him the job.

There was a faint knock on the door, and Kate, one of the younger officers, stepped through underneath the archways. "Sir? The FBI Agents are here," she said, peeking her head round the table to find Matthew with his head in his hands. "They'll find him, Sir," she added.

"I know," Matthew said, looking up at her.

He turned his head away from her and, giving Kate an acknowledging glance, she led Matthew to the two Agents standing in the crowded, claustrophobic space that was called 'Killsperg County Police Department'. _Here we go_, Matthew thought to himself as he dodged through panicked crowds of worrying officers, desperate to find some kind of evidence left by the kidnapper.

"Hello, Agents, I'm Detective Matthew Howard," he said, shaking both of their hands.

"I'm Jennifer Jureau, the Communications Liaison for the Behavioural Analysis Unit, we spoke on the phone," the blonde agent greeted rather mechanically, almost as if she said it every other day. Jennifer then smiled, "but you can call me JJ." Ah, some warmth and humanity. "This is SSA Emily Prentiss," JJ said, directing Matthew towards the dark brunette.

"Hi," Emily said, painting a sweet smile along her somewhat serious features. It managed to calm him down a tone.

"I'm so glad you're here, we need all the help we can get. It's not often a cop goes missing," Matthew said, his voice slightly hoarse from nerves.

"We're happy to help," JJ smiled.

It was weird how different but how alike the two women were: on one side of the spectrum, there was the pretty, sweet-faced blonde who seemed delicate, like someone you felt the need to protect; on the other hand, though, was a tough, beautiful brunette, who you knew could stand well on her own two feet. Yet, they were the same – they knew how to help calm the situation down with just smiles. In an instant, Matthew could see that the family-like connection every officer in the room had together would be the same with the FBI.

Maybe that was how the Law Enforcement worked – family.

"I've got a room set up in the back. I don't think it's what you're used to, but it was all I could manage," Matthew said as he motioned his body to a room near his office in the end of a large hallway.

"I'm sure we'll manage. As long as we have the evidence, a table and a board, we'll be fine," Emily said optimistically as Matthew led them down the hallway.

Once Matthew had directed JJ and Prentiss towards the room they'd been allocated, everything seemed to stop: there were no frantic officers scampering about to and fro with a nervous edge and onset panic. It was peaceful. Matthew had chosen the room well; they would all need to think with their own sense of peace if they were going to find the guard and the cop, not phones going off everywhere with hungry local journalists with the replies of deranged officers. It was pure chaos back there.

"I'm must warn you about the media around here. There are so many young aspiring journalists that want to get a big story in the paper to get a better job elsewhere, and this situation is ideal," Matthew started, ruffling his hair even more, trying to remember all the pointers he'd been going over his head for the past few hours. "Also, the people working here are going to get cranky if you don't turn up with something they can work with: anything you come up with will help us. Don't hesitate to tell us anything."

"We won't," Prentiss said whilst opening one of the evidence boxes laid out along the table.

"It's also the town. Everyone's getting really worried that Alex and Chris might not come back and that anyone could be taken next. If you suspect anyone, please let us know and we can bring them in. It might calm the town down too," he said.

"Don't worry, as soon as the rest of our team arrives, we'll be able to come up with comprehensive profile," JJ said sweetly whilst helping out Prentiss sort through everything found in the first crime scene. "And I know how to handle the media, don't worry," she said calmly, smiling when Matthew stopped messing his hair around.

"Thank you," he said just before he turned back down into the hallway, leaving the agents to their own knowledge.

"Don't worry, Chris, you'll be okay," he murmured to himself before heading back into the frustrating chaos that he was supposed to control.

* * *

_It's just a dream, Alex, you'll wake up soon. This nightmare will be over and then you can go home to your beautiful dog, Callie. Yeah, you remember Callie don't you? Your beautiful border collie who is probably tearing up the sofa again. Yes, you do remember her. Think of her. Think of your mother: she wouldn't be able to function without you. She's going to see you tomorrow at the home and you can tell her that all this was just a nightmare. She'll hug you and love you and you'll worry about her because you wish she wasn't in the home. She's too young to be at the home. Then you'll go get coffee and some take out to share with Callie, and then you'll head to your shift at the museum._

_No, not the museum!_

Alex woke with a start. He woke up to the rattling of chains, the stench of concrete, mould and the unmistakable metal aroma of blood that was now dripping from his wrists. Everything hurt along his body: even in the edge of his vision, he could see how swollen and bruised his cheeks were from the... beating he'd received from his captor; his lungs felt like would explode whenever he breathed and, judging by the flaring pain his ribs had been screaming at him since he woke up, he guessed his ribcage had been broken, or at least fractured. He could remember the ice-cold feel of the metal baseball bat the man owned crashing down hard against his bones.

He didn't want to look at the rest of his body; the pain was enough to scare the hell out him.

Then, he started to become just a little bit more aware of his surroundings, a little bit more aware of what was going on next to him. Moans of pain were getting louder as he became more assertive, with dull, familiar, blunt sounds smacking against a writhing body next to him. He planted his feet solidly to the ground below him and propped his body up to a standing position, his arms becoming stiff from their release off the chains. As he pushed his weight up, he could feel a sharp pain explode in the shin of his right leg.

_Damn, it's probably broken_, Alex thought sadly.

"...let this happen! Why!" A man hollered next to him, no, _screamed_ next to him. The figure had accumulated ski goggles that hide his eyes that lay underneath red tinted plastic, along with a black beanie hat that revealed small whispers of dark brown hair that had been badly tucked underneath the fabric. That was good: he was going to need that description of his captor when he managed to get to the police.

If he got to the police, that is.

"Why did you let this happen, tell me!" The man yelped breathlessly, lowering the bat as he panted more of the room's disgusting air into his lungs like a dog.

The other person, who was now gasping and groaning from an identical pair of chains next to Alex, barely managed to look into the red reflection of the ski mask as blood collected into a pool below him.

"I – I don't know what... what you're talking about..." The other prisoner trailed.

But he wasn't just another prisoner, it was a cop; a police man. It was Chris Kirk. He knew him from around town. He'd even talked to his wife and his kids when they bumped into each other at the store just inside the town centre. Alex had been planning to get his mother some nice food for her birthday, which was the next day, so he decided to make her favourite Victoria Sponge cake – raspberry jam filling the centre with fresh cream topped with a helpful amount of sugar. Not strawberry jam, she hated the stuff – with a few packets of her favourite chocolate biscuits with special Earl Gray tea. It was delicate, simple, and the result made a nice day for his mother, however, one of Chris' kids had accidently ran into him when Alex had turned a sharp corner. The child had knocked over all the ingredients for his cake, and his mother had been frantic, apologising every few seconds. The kid – Alfie, Alex thought – was extremely guilty, and picked up all the items. It was the first time Alex had properly spoken to the family, though he saw them around town a lot.

Now, Chris and Alex were trapped.

"What?" Their captor said, tightening his grip on the bat.

"I said, I don't know what you're talking about," Chris repeated, mustering up some strength Alex hadn't had before.

"How could you not know?" The man snarled, lifting the bat so that Chris backed up against the wall slightly.

Alex dared to jump in. "He said he didn't know, leave it at that," Alex said, cringing as the hollow mask turned to face him. Chris whipped his neck round to see Alex awake, bloody and terrified at suddenly drawing the attention to him.

"Ah, I see you're awake now," the deadly masked man said, tapping the bat. "I don't know how the two of you don't understand what I'm saying."

"Well, explain it then..." Alex said timidly, anything to stop the bat from hitting him again.

Even with the mask on Alex knew the man had been confused at his suggestion, but the slender figure straightened, towering above Alex's cowering position by the wall. "This town used to be good, so full of rich history. The museum which you were _supposed_ to be guarding has been losing works and artefacts that told a beautiful story of Killsperg, but now most of them are gone. I once saw one of the paintings being torn up and used as rolls for people to sniff drugs. I had a mental breakdown that day and swore vengeance to the town for its lazy 'saviours'.

"And you," he continued, turning his ski mask to face Chris. "You were supposed to find the criminals, find them and put them to justice. This town deserves that justice, but your precious leader Mr Matthew Howard deemed it as a case you couldn't approach right away. 'We'll look into it as soon as we have the time', I think was what he said to me and guess what, nothing happened. Nothing at all," he said. Alex was shaking in his chains now, the cold touch of the air stroking his skin until his arms were covered in goose bumps. Night must have been drawing in.

"You will pay for what you've done. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction," the man said, a growl escaping his lips.

_Every action has a- who does this guy think he is?_ Alex told himself.

"We haven't done anything wrong," Chris blurted.

Their captor snarled and drew his bat up at the remark; however, instead of hitting Chris, he smashed the metal body of the baseball bat down on Alex's lowered head.

He remembered nothing more from the conversation afterwards.

* * *

Reid and Rossi had just begun to pull up by the curb which was situated only a few feet away from the museum. The gas was turned off once Rossi braked the car, and both agents climbed out the SUV and into the dull building standing in front of them.

"No wonder this place gets robbed a lot," Rossi exclaimed whilst examining piece of broken wire fence that had been used as a makeshift wall for one of the exhibition rooms. "Even if you only looked through a couple of gaps in this fence, you'd be able to see the entire room inside."

"Not to mention that the wall would cast a large shadow inside; just look at how bright the room is compared to how dark this tiny crevice is," Reid added. "The Unsub probably knew this was here and planned the attack from here."

Rossi began to uncoil the fence from the loose nails it hung from, earning a confused look from the genius standing next to him.

"What are doing?" Reid finally asked as Rossi crawled through the hole in the wall and began to pin the fence back to its original position.

"Get inside and sit where Alex Helders would have sat for his shift," he instructed.

"Alright," Reid groaned as he straightened himself up and walked round to the front doors of the museum. To prove their point of being a target of robbery, the locks had slight scrapes around the metal plates surrounding the keyhole. It indicated to Reid that many drunk, high or unorganised burglars had tried to invade the building in the past. Whether they'd been successful or not, Reid didn't know. All he knew was that he needed to cut the yellow 'Crime Scene' tag before he could allow himself to enter the museum.

The main hall of the museum was fairly dull, with only one small, compact reception area, companied with a few local information guides on the desk, and a potted plant – which was in desperate need of some water. Reid would have called it quaint if the walls hadn't been chipped and had paint beginning to flick off the surface, or the fact that the place had an... eerie quality to its nature.

Reid quickly made his way to the left wing of the building's ground floor, taking a few leaflets with him as he examined each room he passed through, and was welcomed with the impatient voice of his fellow agent.

"What took you so long?" Rossi grunted?

Reid rolled his eyes, scanning the room in search of Rossi. "I was only gone a few minutes, but I think I might have gotten something that may interest you."

"Go one," Rossi said.

"Okay," Reid started, flicking the first leaflet over as he walked over to the chair Alex had been sitting on when he was abducted. "_Killsperg's Museum is one of the main landmarks of our town. Inside this glorious building contains secrets and treasures that belong to our beautiful town and offer a story no other town in America has to offer. We have talented artists dated back to hundreds of years ago, still preserved. We have historical artefacts that show what our town could have been like generations ago coupled with accounts from famous leaders who once ruled and protected out town_," Reid finished._ "_I think this piece of information is dated, as the picture that's captioned with it looks almost the exact opposite of what the building looks like today: no dirty walls, no dusty shelves, and no damp on the floor and no paint flicking off – Rossi? Where are you?"

Silence.

"Rossi?" Reid called out again, flipping the pamphlet closed. "Are you there Rossi?"

Instinctively, Reid felt his fingertips move towards the handle of his gun and his eyes moved to the hole both Rossi and he had examined around seven minutes ago. Rossi wasn't there anymore.

"Can you see me now, kid?" Rossi whispered behind Reid as soon as he stood up from his chair.

"What-" Reid gasped, shocked as he turned around to face Rossi burst into a fit of giggles. "It's not funny."

"It kind of is," Rossi snickered.

"Anyway-" Reid interrupted, eager to change the subject. "It appears from the police report that there was blood on the floor about... here," he pointed out, walking just a little bit ahead of him to find a faded pink stain across the surface of the shiny ground below his feet. "Blitz attack, most likely."

"I agree. The Unsub probably smashed the back of the security guard's head." He then tugged slightly at the fabric of Reid's jacket, "and then dragged him out the back into his car," he continued as he lead Reid to a door crudely labelled 'Fire Escape' in glowing green paint. Reid could picture a child painting the sign; how desperate had this town gotten?

"The Blitz attack suggests someone who's disorganised and weak, especially co-elated with the dragging technique. Someone who was strong would have picked their victim up and someone organised would have formulated a plan such as drugging or coaxing their victim out of their location," Reid said.

Rossi pushed open the fire escape, and was met with the wilderness of the back woods that encased the museum from the front view of the building. The ground by the edge of the trees was dusty and ragged, several tyre marks chiselled into the ground. The trail of tyre prints led into a beaten road inside the forest, which, from the view of Reid and Rossi, seemed to wind into the forest like a maze.

"The Unsub must know the area well enough to be able to know a route so secret," Rossi remarked.

"So, the Unsub is local," Reid inferred, stepping out into the clearing. "The Unsub probably has his victims out in the woods..." he continued, looking back at Rossi with pleading eyes. "Can we look? We might find them,"

Rossi moved his eyes to the ground, knowing all-too-well Reid's puppy dog eyes; they could melt even the toughest of men if Reid did them right. "You know we can't Reid, not without enough information. Plus, considering he's attacking law enforcement, he might have an interest in us," Rossi said, turning his body to face the museum. "I think we should head back to the Police Department and tell the group what we've come up with."

"Okay," Reid said, following Rossi. "There's just one thing I'm not sure about on this case."

Rossi blinked. "Go one."

"Why take a security guard from a derelict museum that means nothing to this town anymore? If you've been wronged by the justice system, why take a security guard unless something happened here? Something that the Unsub relates too..."

"I think you're onto something, kid," Rossi said as he shut the back door, ignoring the amount of dust that began to circle him as he slammed the door shut.

However, what both agents failed to notice was the security camera facing down upon them from the top corner of the room, watching their entire conversation. He'd watched them sneak into his museum without a care in the world, ignoring the 'Crime Scene' tag that had been the only useful thing this town's law enforcement had been able to provide. They'd practically broken into his sacred shrine of the town that saved him; broken into the only thing he felt needed protecting.

One of them was going to pay for trespassing his building: the older, stockier guy seemed like a fighter who could stop the attack, but the tall, skinny guy? He seemed intelligent – far too intelligent – enough to work out what might ensue, but all he needed to do was knock the guy out like the others.

Only one more person to go before their actions would be met with the cruel severity the justice system of this town had forgotten about. Just one more.

* * *

**Sorry about how long it took to update and I swear the exciting stuff is going to happen soon, I promise! Hope this was a good chapter.**

**I'll update soon!**

**PS. So, you know how I live in England and can't watch the BRAND NEW series of Criminal Minds... how have the first couple of episodes been? Enjoy them America... you don't know how lucky you are...**


	4. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the long wait! I'll try to not make my updates so long, but I'm heading into a busy period of my life with exams and things. Anyway, here is Chapter 3. Oh, and Happy New Year!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Criminal Minds. CBS owns it.**

* * *

Hotch pulled the large, black SUV up by the police cars, which were parked near the bold yellow and black 'Crime Scene' tape that separated the public eye from the scene inside the building. Morgan began to climb out of the passenger seat whilst Hotch turned off the car's engine, simultaneously opening the door slightly once he turned the key in the ignition. It took just a few seconds for the hum of the engine to stop and for Hotch to get out of the driver's seat.

"Looks like we're not the only ones who want to see what's inside," said Morgan who was watching numerous people line up with notepads and pens, all calling out to the cops who were making sure none of them crossed the tape. "I'm even beginning to miss JJ."

Hotch stood with Morgan for a second before leading him to the crime scene, staying as stoic as ever as he ignored the questions from the crowd behind him. Once the agents reached the safety of the house, they were both greeted by one of the forensics. Hotch and Morgan quickly flipped their badges as the man looked slightly quizzically at them.

"We're Special Agents Hotch and Morgan," Hotch greeted robotically. "Did you manage to find anything?"

"There's nothing inside the house left by the abductor; most of the evidence was found out in the back yard," the man began to explain. "The only thing left on the house for us to find was a picked lock, but that's it."

"Were there any prints left on the lock?" Hotch asked as the man led them through the living room of the house. Morgan took in the surroundings: every room he'd passed looked as if it were falling into disrepair. There was damp over various walls, plants had been forgotten about and left to die in the shade of pulled curtains and every piece of furniture looked dusty and dirty. No one had lived in this house in a long time.

"Unfortunately no. Whoever took the cop probably wore gloves when he tried to break into this place," he said.

Morgan snapped out from examining the house and looked at Hotch. "That shows a level of organisation if he took forensic counter measures," he said. Hotch nodded in agreement with him.

The forensics man continued to direct the agents until they'd reached the back yard. Again, Morgan got to know his surroundings: the plants had been left to grow on their own, forming a chaotic mess of weeds and too-long plants that had grown out of their normal size from not being cut enough times. The fences that kept the plants from growing outwards into the neighbour's yards were wooden, but hadn't been repainted recently or recoated with anything that could protect the wood. This, along with the way the rooms inside the house had been kept in, confirmed Morgan's theory that this house hadn't been used in years.

Hotch, meanwhile, was looking at all the places marked with yellow cones that were numbered in black. The first cone in the yard was where Chris had originally been attacked by the unsub. The grass around it had been flattened by the fall, Hotch deduced, and had been covered slightly with blood. No doubt it was Chris', but the blood had been sent back to the labs to be tested anyway. Chris could have fought back against the unsub. Hotch doubted this, otherwise Dominic, his partner, would have noticed in time and would have helped Chris.

No, there had been a blitz attack here. _Strange_, Hotch mused. _Blitz attacks usually indicate a level of disorganisation, but the unsub was organised enough to pick the locks without leaving any prints_.

Hotch continued on the next cone, which had been placed where the drag marks had started. _Drag marks usually mean the unsub isn't strong enough to carry his victim, so someone of slight build. Also shows a level of disorganisation if the unsub hadn't of thought bringing something to help carry the victim away if they knew they wouldn't be able to carry the victim._

The drag marks continued on to the back of the yard where a third cone had been placed. Hovering above the yellow cone was a slight gap in the fence. Placing on a pair of white, plastic gloves that he always carried on him, Hotch lifted the out-of-place panel in the wooden fence to reveal how the unsub managed to get away. Behind the fence was a small alleyway that was only just large enough for a small car to fit through.

A fourth cone had been put next to a pair of tyre tracks along the dusty road. Hotch would have sent a picture of the tyre markings for Garcia to analyse to see what type of car they could look for, but the road was so dusty that all detail had vanquished. The tyre tracks led all the way to the entrance of the alleyway until they managed to hit smooth tarmac, leaving no trace of where the unsub could have gone too.

Meanwhile, over the fence, Morgan had been investigating the first set of cones. He'd begun the process of putting himself in the unsub's shoes and was mentally marking where all the points of the attack had occurred.

"Okay, so I'm hiding in the overgrown grass, waiting for the cop to investigate the yard," he began, crouching down near the area of the first attack where a cone marked '5' had been placed. The CSI team must have noticed this dent in the grass last. "I see the cop walk by where I'm sitting, so I spring up and attack him with something," he said. "Something that I could use to incapacitate the cop without having to apply that much force, a crowbar or a baton perhaps.

"Then, I quickly drag you all the way from this position in the yard to the back fence," he says whilst walking alongside the drag marks, making sure dry grass didn't get stuck in his boots. "And I escape with the cop via the hole in the fence. This trap wasn't left to chance. I planned this trap, knowing that if my first note got ignored then I would be able to carry out the warning that the police here had missed," he continued.

Stepping out of the fence, he quickly examined the dusty alleyway, coming up with the ending scenario. "I then get you in my car, something small that blends in with the town, and drive off to the location where I'm keeping you," he finished.

The unsub's behaviour was confusing him.

"Hotch, there's something I'm not understanding about the unsub," he said to his superior who had rejoined him.

"What is it?"

"Well, the planning it takes for a trap like this to happen would take a couple of days to plan and prepare, and this guy left no fingerprints anywhere on the site," he explained to Hotch. "But then the unsub blitz attacked him and dragged him away, showing a level of disorganisation that the planning contradicts, especially when you put both kidnappings together. Both had blitz attacks and drag marks to areas where only a local would know," Morgan said.

"I think the unsub is evolving in his kidnappings. First, he starts off with only the basics – to sneak up on his victim, blitz attack him over the head and then drag him away. The next kidnapping has much more planning involved, but still uses the same techniques because that's what he feels comfortable with."

Morgan took a moment to take all of that in his head. Then, a light bulb flicked in his head.

"This is the first time he's ever kidnapped before," Morgan exclaimed.

"Yes, he's sticking to what he's most comfortable with," said Hotch. "I think we've got enough here to start building a profile on the unsub. Let's head back to the station."

"Okay, you head back to the SUV and wait for me," Morgan said as the two men headed back towards the house.

Hotch stopped them both in their tracks. "What do you need to find out?"

"I want to call Garcia and check who owned this house, find out why the owner hasn't come back to do the mountain of repair work this house needs," Morgan informed Hotch.

Hotch nodded, emotionless as ever (Morgan was really beginning to wonder what went on behind the façade his boss wore everyday), and left Morgan to call Garcia. Clicking speed-dial, Morgan was surprised at having to wait a few moments for the beeping down the line to stop.

"Baby girl, why didn't you answer me as quick as ever?" Morgan asked, his voice filling with charm.

"Why, you getting nervous?" A cheeky voice replied to him.

Morgan let out a small laugh. "Hey, I was just wondering if you could check out an address for me," he said.

"Sure, just say the word and I'll have everything you need to know before you can say 'thanks'," she said with confidence. In the background, Morgan could already hear her fingers tapping away on her keyboard.

"Okay, the address is 150 West 10 Street, Killsperg, Nebraska," Morgan said down the phone. "Than-"

"Ha! I got it before you said the word!" Garcia said. Morgan could imagine her raising her arms in victory and only managed to stifle a chuckle, hoping the forensic and CSI teams weren't watching their conversation. "What do you wish to know, chocolate bear," she said playfully.

"I would like to know, baby girl, who currently owns the house," he said with a smile, even though Garcia couldn't see it.

"Um, no one owns it, sweetie," she said. "It belongs to the town's council."

Morgan sighed. "Okay, who owned it before the council?"

Tapping could be heard over the silence of the conversation. "A guy named Riley Forest was the previous owner. Oh..." she trailed.

"What?"

"Turns out Riley here was found dead at a drugs bust just outside Killsperg a few months ago. Drug overdose."

"Wait, did you say months ago?" Morgan asked.

"Why, what is it?" Garcia said, concern tapping into her voice.

"This place looks like it hasn't been used in years. Literally, there are overgrown plants everywhere and damp and mould has been growing in this house for what looks like years, not months. Could you check again?"

A few more seconds of silent tapping.

"Aha, I see your problem. Riley hadn't spent any of his money of repairs and maintenance for years. Probably trying to save money for his drugs if I'm correct," she answered.

"Okay, baby girl, thanks for the help!" He called down the line.

"Anytime, just hurry up and get the hell back here so I can see you again," she cooed back down to him. "I'll keep going on that Riley guy, he may be connected."

"You go girl," Morgan finished as he ended the call and hurried back to the SUV.

* * *

_Will this day never end?_ Was the thought Florence Pierce had been thinking almost every minute for the past hour now. All day, she'd had to fill out file after file after file on all her clients. She'd recorded everything from divorces, to break-ins, to car accidents today, and she'd just about had enough of it.

"This is why you need to learn to procrastinate," she said to herself as the last worker on the floor left her to finish her paper work. Florence mentally kicked herself: _how come everyone else can finish all of their paper work on time and you can't, huh?_ She mused. There really were times when she hated her job.

After an extra hour of endless note making and writing, she came to the last page on the last file.

_Thank God, I don't think I can stand being in this office any longer_, she thought to herself as her sore wrist managed to move her stiff hand in order to write out the last page. With a triumphant sigh, she closed the file and put it away in her desk drawer. She reached out for her phone, which had been charging near her computer, and unplugged it from the cable cord. She pulled the plug of the cable out of the socket and placed that, along with her keys, in her bag that hung off the back of her chair.

Her black jacket was also draped across the back of the uncomfortable office chair, so she reached out her left hand to grab it.

She then felt her light brown hair being flicked away from her neck by someone other than her. Immediately, she stopped what she was doing and turned round, feeling her pulse rate climb higher. There was no one in the building other than her.

Right in front of her was a man, with dark brown hair sticking out in tuffs underneath a black beanie hat, who was wearing a ski mask that shaded his skin with a deep red tint. She barely had any time to react before his hand clasped over her mouth, muffling any scream she had in her throat.

Who would have heard her though?

Underneath his hand was a piece of cloth that made Florence's lips sting slightly. The man moved the cloth higher along her face until it covered her nose and Florence was forced to inhale whatever had made her mouth sting. The smell reminded Florence of her bleach at home, but that only caused her more panic.

_Is there bleach on this cloth? Is he trying to kill me? What is going on? Someone help!_ She mentally screamed, but no words could form on her tongue. The more she breathed in, the more she became drowsy. She knew in that instant what was going on then; he was trying to drug her. The woman squirmed underneath the grip of the man, who had taken to wrapping his other free arm around her waist. She kicked and writhed, even though her pencil skirt made it hard for her legs to stretch properly.

Nothing she was doing was helping her at all.

Her pulse rate climbed higher as her eyelids dropped lower. Tears began to well in her eyes as she closed them shut; feeling tight but silent sobs form in her throat that had been denied sound from the cloth. She clenched her eyes tight, and then snapped them open, only to see dark spots grow over her vision. Her eyelids fluttered until she could no longer fight the fumes her nose had breathed in.

The last thing Florence remembered was the feeling of being carried and placed on something that started to move after the man had put her down before the darkness took over her body completely.

* * *

Reid and Rossi had joined Prentiss and JJ at the stations just a few minutes before Hotch and Morgan arrived. Already, the boards the station had provided were covered in photos that displayed both of the crime scenes that the agents had visited today. Prentiss was looking over the photos to get an insight into how the abductor's behaviour: he was both organised – with the level of planning and care in the second crime scene – but was also chaotic and disorganised too, judging from the technique used to kidnap both the cop and the security guard.

_Maybe there are two kidnappers,_ she thought to herself. _The dominant one could be doing all the planning whilst the submissive one actually commits the kidnappings_. But that didn't make sense to her either. Why would the dominant personality let the submissive one commit the kidnappings when the dominant one was usually the one to do it?

"You confused?" Morgan said, watching Emily look confusedly at the board.

"Just a little," she answered. "I thought that two kidnappers – a dominant and submissive pair – may have committed these kidnappings, but it looks like the dominant personality is letting the submissive do all the, shall we say, 'fun stuff'."

"That's because there aren't two kidnappers," Morgan called from the table. Suddenly, everyone in the room became interested.

Prentiss exasperated heavily before turning round to face Morgan. "Do tell?"

"Did Hotch not tell you guys what we came up with?" A chorus of shaking heads answered his question for him. "Okay then. We believe our unsub is a white male aged in his early twenties, and, before you interrupt me and ask me why he is so young, is because this is his first kidnapping," he explained. "I'll let you all figure out the rest."

Reid's head began to swim with theories at Morgan's explanation. "That explains a lot. It tells us why he started off with just blitz attacking the guard and dragging him out and why he stayed comfortable with that technique the second time round, but helps us understand why he evolved into planning the second kidnapping a lot more thoroughly," Reid rambled to himself aloud. He quickly snapped out of his trance-like state and turned to his teammates. "Rossi and I also believe that he's a local. We followed the drag marks out towards the back of the museum to find tyre tracks leading out to a forest out behind it, something only a local could really know."

"Same with us, though not the whole forest part," Morgan added. "A panel on the fence at the back of the yard opened up to a back alley that had tyre tracks."

"So, our unsub is a young man who is local, whose goal is to kidnap the local Law Enforcement because of something that affected him personally. He's also evolving in his work," Rossi said, pacing the room. "What happened with the Law that led this man to do these kidnappings then?"

Everyone looked at each other in the room, blank faces. None of them knew why.

"Has anyone checked Garcia about cases that went wrong around the area yet?" JJ asked, finally raising her head away from the first news article in the town.

"I'll call her," Reid offered, already bringing his phone out to call their technical analyst, but there was no need. Hotch suddenly walked in the room, just about finishing a conversation over the phone.

"Okay, I'll tell the team. Thanks Garcia," Hotch said calmly down the line as he sat down on the table with his team. "Garcia said she managed to pull up a case that had found a man under investigation innocent. The man was Riley Forest-"

"That was the guy who last owned the house that the last kidnapping happened at," Morgan interrupted, remembering his conversation with Garcia.

"What happened to him," Reid asked, puzzled.

"An anonymous call to the police identified this man as a drug dealer, but, when the cops went to investigate, no traces of drugs were found on his person or in his home. The person who originally called kept on calling and calling until the police ignored him. Each time they went to investigate, they found nothing. They thought this person may have been a hoax caller," Hotch described. "Riley was found a few months ago at a drugs bust dead from an overdose."

"The anonymous caller is our unsub," Prentiss mused. "He knew that Riley Forest was involved in drug dealing, so he tried to tell the police, but when they found nothing each time, they ignored him. He was proved right when they found the man dead, but being proven right wasn't what mattered to him; he wants to be listened to," she continued.

"So, we're looking for a young, white male who is of slight build, of slightly above average intelligence and wants to commit a level of revenge against the Law Enforcement," Reid rounded up. "He's local and he wouldn't stand out from town. In fact, people probably regard him as someone who could do no wrong."

"Also considering the security guard was his first kidnap, he probably has a strong view on the arts and the history of the town," Rossi said, taking into account the leaflets Reid first picked out at the museum that went on and on about the culture of the town that the agent wasn't really seeing as of late. "He probably feels the Law Enforcement hasn't protected this town's culture enough and it's angered him."

Suddenly, the wooden door that opened out to the very small hallway creaked open. It was Detective Howard.

"We've got another kidnapping," he said breathlessly, trying to scramble on his jacket in preparation of leaving.

Hotch nodded reverently. "Okay, Prentiss, Rossi, you can come with me to investigate the crime scene. JJ, I'm going to need you to come with me to hold back the media attention. Reid and Morgan, start to build a geographical profile on the unsub," he instructed his team, who followed his commands quickly.

They were going to need to act quick if they wanted to catch this guy.

* * *

**By the way, all the locations are made up. There is no place in Nebraska called Killsperg.**

**Reviews are much appreciated! **


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